Gay conversions are hard, Mets to Yankees conversions, harder

If you’re a gay teenager in California, you’ve been saved by Gov. Jerry Brown, who recently signed into law the banning of “conversion therapy.” And what’s “conversion therapy?” It’s a quacked-out method of trying to brainwash people into not being gay.

Under the law, it’s now illegal for parents to take their kids to therapists— psychiatric or otherwise—in an effort to get Junior to pull the ol’ switcheroo and start salivating over Angelina Jolie instead of Brad Pitt. (And vice-versa.) (And for anyone in the audience under 21, insert Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber.)

Anyway, can’t do it in California anymore, and if a New Jersey legislator has his way, the state will be the second in the nation to ban conversion therapy on kids under 18. Assemblyman Timothy J. Eustace — who happens to be gay himself — plans to introduce a bill this week that would stop practice here in New Jersey.

Good for him. Being a teenager is hard enough, and I have to imagine being a gay teenager is even harder. Can you imagine being a gay teen, having your parents think you’re diseased, and then on top of it all, have them force you to see someone who then tries to mangle your head? (And even if you think being gay is something that can be “fixed,” imagine for a minute the reverse: Someone takes you, Mr. or Mrs. Heterosexual, and tries to turn you gay. Doesn’t sound fun, eh?)

I’m not a sexual behavioral scientist and I don’t play one on TV, but I’m figuring if you’re gay, you’re gay. That’s the way you are. I suppose for some adventurous souls, it may be a now-and-again choice, like having an RC instead of a Coke, but for most, it is what it is. And I have to imagine that’s impossible to change without causing some severe mental anguish.

Consider: Even things that aren’t hard-wired into your system are pretty tough to flip-flop.I mean, if someone tried to convert me from A to B, the odds wouldn’t be great. Like ...

Mets to Yankees: I’m a Mets fan. Nobody wants to be a Mets fan, and I bet 98 percent of Mets fans out there feel a little guilty passing this off to their own children. But to switch and be a Yankees fan? Impossible. Conversion therapy odds: Three percent.

Dogs to cats: I don’t care if you’ve got a cat that can read me “The Great Gatsby” while giving me a shoulder massage, I’d never give up dogs as my domestic pet of choice. I might accept this cat as a houseguest, but never as a member of my family. Conversion therapy odds: 12 percent.

Jewish to other religion: Well, people convert religions all the time. But for that to take, you really have to believe (like, believe-believe-believe) or simply not care (like, converting to make your soon-to-be-spouse’s relatives happy). Either way, for me, not happening. I’m Jewish by birth, Buddhist by action (about one in every 20 actions, but whatever), agnostic by belief (who am I to say?) and Jedi on Halloween. Conversion therapy odds: Zero percent.

Country to city: I like open spaces. I like vistas. Mountains, beaches, fields, you name it. I lived in Manhattan for two months once. I hated it. Closed in. Too much for me. That said, if I was loaded and lived in a penthouse and had a limo at my disposal? I could live there. Conversion therapy odds: 95 percent.

Rolling Stones to Beatles: You can kinda-sorta “like” both of these classic bands, but you’re either a Stones guy or a Beatles guy. The piano fill on “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” (at 5:21)is something I can never give up. And the list only grows from there. “Shine a Light.” “Under My Thumb.” Just about everything from 1965 to 1976. Conversion therapy odds: Yeah, no. Not happening.

Straight to gay: What, you didn’t think I’d go there? I’m going there. So yes: David Beckham, shirtless. I get it. Pretty hot. So hot, in fact, I wish I had David Beckham’s body. But do I want to pour liquid chocolate on his chest and lick it off? I do not. Sorry, Becks. Conversion therapy odds: .0000001 percent. (Well, c’mon. It is David Beckham.)